Sunday, December 2, 2012

Crossing Over

Sometimes a genealogy researcher finds that the boundaries
become blurred between the land of the living and the resting place of the
dead.

Oh, we have no trouble traipsing through innumerable
cemeteries, gawking at the epitaphs of strangers long gone. Some even celebrate
this oddity, adopting the moniker, “Graveyard Rabbits.”

I can hardly blame them. As long as I can remember, the
fascination of the micro-histories that may be found by careful attention to
headstones draws me, too.

But that fascination eludes me today.

In a move that we often wish for ourselves but would
discover to be devastating for others, my sister-in-law took the opportunity,
just before dawn the other day, to step over that demarcation line and join the
other side. She passed quietly in the night. No one knew—well, no one, that is,
until it was quite over and most irreversible.

Not that they didn’t try. A valiant effort by family and
first responders ensued upon discovery. That blurry line, though, hardened its
resolve to keep the one it had just captured.

And it was all over. The line, once blurred, returned firmly
into place. A new boundary has been drawn.

That news has left, first, shock. As time passes,
though, my memory eases the jolt in microscopic ways, as scenes from our lives
together play out in the movie screen of my mind.

I see my sister-in-law in all
sorts of escapades from youth and from the many times we’ve shared together. I
recall what seemed to be the invincible twenty-something who—courtesy of
several serious car wrecks from which she merely walked away—was the source of periodic
heart-attack-worthy spates of anxiety for my mother-in-law. I see also the
doting sister-in-law whose good intentions while visiting me in the hospital, post-surgery,
lapsed into concern that she, herself, might become the one who needed nursing
attention. Thinking of the upcoming holiday, I recall the yearly dance of
coordinating schedules so that we could get together sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Eve in a way that would
not conflict with our travel obligations or her husband’s gigs with his band.

I remember how she adored her “big brother,” the man I
married, who unmercifully never let her forget that, when a
pre-schooler, she would introduce herself complete with middle name, though
she couldn’t quite pronounce it. Rather than ending with a perfectly-enunciated
“Louise,” it always came out as “Judy ’weez.”

It’s odd to think that the very ailment that claimed her
brother’s life so early—Marfan syndrome—was partially what shriveled
the size of her extended family. She lost her grandfather, an uncle, and father
within a few years’ time. Her mother, now gone, was an only child of parents
who had moved from Wisconsin to California—cut off from
extended family left behind. A grand-aunt and grand-uncle were all that she and
her brother had, growing up—until age claimed that surrogate grandparents’
generation. And then, her brother left, too.

With this passing, there is no one remaining in that family.
That thought is not lost on a genealogist: a family gone. A stump of a branch
on a hollowed-out family tree. Sometimes, life doesn’t go on.

Perhaps it’s the genealogy in me that wants me to keep on
pursuing her family history. Though there is no one to pass this heritage down to, there is quite a story. My
sister-in-law’s paternal grandfather—a local,
male version of Helen Keller, was blind and deaf owing to a childhood accident,
yet developed skills in many areas, including publishing a book of poetry, and
publicly speaking about his experiences. Her great-grandparents provided
stories of spunk and vivacity, and heritages as diverse as Frenchmen from Maine traveling around the horn to California during Gold Rush days, to Irish-Americans
crossing the continent to the same destination. Perhaps it is that seemingly-indestructible
resilience that, passed down to her generation, powered my sister-in-law’s
younger days. Perhaps seeing all that she survived throughout her life painted her
with that invincible aura.

But it was not meant to be so. We all have to go at some
point, we tell ourselves. And after we go, those who are left behind take up
the task of looking back to see what is worth keeping—worth remembering. Father,
mother, grandparents, aunts and uncles morph from family members to family
memories.

And yes, even sisters-in-law.

Well, that is not entirely correct to call her my sister-in-law.
She might be more correctly labeled as what my family facetiously dubs “outlaws.”
Even then, that is not quite right. Because I lost my first husband at a
relatively young age, though I remarried, I’ve always maintained a relationship
with my original in-laws. Adding the in-laws from my current marriage, it
became quite awkward to introduce this woman as my sister-in-law, yet that is
what she was. It always took an inordinately long explanation to complete those
introductions. It was easier to just call her Judy, Greg’s sister. Most
everyone in my circle of acquaintances would then understand.

21 comments:

Beautiful tribute Jacqi. My great grandmother had a sister Maria, who had at least six daughters, I have not found any descendants but one hundred years later years later I have found them and written about them.

Claudia, that's what I'm hoping. It is strange, though, to go through the steps from this angle, producing the details for death certificate and such, knowing some day, someone will look at that paper just as I've inspected the details on so many others, hoping that, despite the grief, the reporting party had gotten it right.

Thank you, Andrea. It was hard to write...but I needed to. With no blood relations left in the family--only those related by marriage, basically me and her husband--there won't be an official funeral. This is just part of what I want to do to remember her. As much as funerals are bashed by many, they really are for the living, not the dead. I somehow need that for closure...

May I echo what the others have said about your tribute. It meant a lot to me. I attended the funeral of an acquaintance last week. When I arrived at the viewing, I told his wife Molly I hadn't seen him in fifty years. How time flies! There he was. Harvey was brilliant. When he was in the 8th grade, the curtain opened to a school assembly for all the High School students. Some started laughing until he started speaking, and then they knew Harvey was for real. He could have done anything he wanted in life. Once he married Molly, his family became everything to him. His four children spoke and his grandchildren sang. I knew it had been a life well lived.

What a precious tribute to your friend, Grant. He does indeed sound special--not just because of his obvious talent, but because of his commitment to his family. In the pressure of this 24/7 world, that is indeed a challenging commitment to make!

So sorry to hear of your loss, Jacqi. What a beautiful tribute you've written to your sister-in-law Judy. It sounds like she came from a strong and special family with an amazing history. Thanks for sharing her story with us, hard as it must be.

So sorry about your loss. What a beautiful story. Just last week lost a very close cousin and my LAST uncle. I am an only child and my line ends with me. Maybe that is why i find such comfort roaming cemetaries and spending so much time on my family history. Again, so sorry for your loss of such a treasured loved one! God Bless!

Lisa, that's a very sobering thought, and one that is not lost on me. My daughter is an only child, too, and when I see things through her eyes, I see the kinds of things you mentioned. It's interesting to think that a lack of family--even if perceived--can be what drives us to pursue researching our family history!

Thank you so much, Iggy. In one way, it does seem odd to see all this misfortune befall one family. But then my brain tries to reason with me--it was an inherited syndrome, after all, that affected much of the family. Feelings have never been any good at listening to brains talk.

And I will be adding to those "records" with stories on this family. You've found some of them, yourself, in your searches on my behalf. An interesting extended family, to say the least.

Debi, I appreciate your stopping by and leaving a word for me. It is hard to write such posts, but somehow, there is an easing of the pain in the writing. I guess that's the same dynamic we find--of course, to a lesser degree--when we work to preserve the memories of all the family who have already passed on.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.